But first--he tried to make his mind follow out the natural implications and consequences of what had happened. Carrie had asked his name. But clearly, when it was given her, it had meant nothing to her. She could not have left her father there--knowing it was her father--without a word. No; Phoebe's first step, of course, would have been to drop her old name, and the child would have no knowledge of it.
But Phoebe? If Carrie was in England, so was Phoebe. He could not believe that she would part with the child. And supposing Carrie spoke of the prating, haranguing fellow she had seen?--mentioned the name, which the stage-manager had given her?--what then? Could Phoebe still have the cruelty, the wickedness to maintain her course of action--to keep Carrie from him? Ah! if he had been guilty towards her in the old days, she had wrung out full payment long ago; the balance of injury had long since dropped heavily on his side. But who could know how she had developed?--whether towards hardness or towards repentance. Still--to-night, probably--she would hear what and whom Carrie had seen. Any post might bring the fruits of it. And if not--he was not without a clue. If a girl whose name is known has been playing recently at an English provincial theatre, it ought to be possible somehow to recover news of her. He looked at his watch. Too late for the lawyers. But he roused himself, hailed a cab, and went to his club, where he wrote at length to his solicitor, describing what had happened, and suggesting various lines of action.
Then he went home, got some charcoal and paper and by lamp-light began to draw the face which he had seen--a very young and still plastic face, with delicate lips open above the small teeth; and eyes--why, they were Phoebe's eyes, of course!--no other eyes like them in the world. He drew them with an eager hand, knowing the way of them. He put the light--the smile--into them; a happy smile!--as of one to whom life has been kind. No sign of fear, distress, or cringing poverty--rather an innocent sovereignty, lovely and unashamed. Then the brow, and the curly hair in its brown profusion; and the small neck; and the thin, straight shoulders. He drew in the curve of the shady hat--the knot of lace at the throat--the spare young lines of the breast.